


A Study in Despair

by owl_coffee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fork in the path, Gen, Sherlock S1E1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 23:04:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2206392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owl_coffee/pseuds/owl_coffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if things changed, right at the start? For lack of a nail, a kingdom was lost. For lack of a gun...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Despair

Watson ran through the school building, rattling doors as he went. Finally he found an unlocked room with the light on and burst into it. It was empty.

Through the window, across in the other building, he could see Sherlock and an old man. Each one had a small bottle in his hand. As Watson watched, Sherlock opened his and held a pill up, examining it. There was no way. He wouldn't take it. Surely he wouldn't be that stupid? "Sherlock!" His voice didn't penetrate past the glass, let alone carry to the next building. The old man was saying something, but Watson couldn't hear. Sherlock looked fascinated, speculative. They both brought the pills toward their mouths. "Shit!" How was the cabby doing this? Watson reached in his coat pocket for the gun.

But the gun wasn't there. Unable to do anything, he watched in horror as Sherlock took the pill. 

Then he was running, out of the room, down the dark stairwell, across the courtyard, into the next building and up the stairs, bursting through the door but not in time. Shelock was lying in a heap on the floor and the old cabby was watching with satisfaction.  
The old man didn't turn as Watson entered the room, but addressed his remarks to the prostrate Sherlock. "Thought you'd outwitted me, didn't you? I told you. I know people. I knew what you'd choose *because* you was clever, see. Didn't save you."  
Sherlock mumbled something, and the cabby leaned in closer to listen. "What's that? It wasn't fair? Course it wasn't fair. You think I'd play fair? I'm a serial killer, sonny. The game was rigged from the start."  
"Get away from him."  
The old man finally turned round. "You can't save him now. He'll be dead in five minutes." He spat. "Sherlock Holmes. The science of detection."  
Before he knew it, Watson had his hands around the cabby's throat. "You bastard! I will kill you. I've done it before. Tell me how to save him! Tell me!" He shook the old man back and forth like a rag doll.  
"I can't! I tol yer! Let me go, I'll come quietly!"  
A faint voice came from the floor. "He's right."  
Keeping an eye on the cabby, Watson knelt down beside his friend. "Don't be an idiot. I'm going to call an ambulance." He got out his phone and tapped the number in fiercely. "Hello? Yes, I'm in the school buildings at Cromwell street? Cromwell, East London. Yes, it's an emergency. A man's been poisoned. I think I'm going to need the police as well. Tell Inspector Lestrade I've found his bloody serial killer."  
"Don't be an idiot. They won't get here fast enough." Sherlock was sweating and shaking. "But thanks."  
"Why did you do it?"  
"... the game." His eyes closed.

When the paramedics arrived, it was too late, just as Sherlock said. The ratty little cab driver put up no resistance as the police took him away. "I can't believe it," Lestrade said to Watson. "I just can't believe it. He always outwits them, Sherlock. He pisses me off and half the time he doesn't tell me anything but he always comes through. Always."  
"I guess not this time." Someone had wrapped a red blanket round Watson's shoulders, and he shook it off. "What's this for?"  
"I think you're in shock. It's important to keep warm."  
"I'm not in bloody shock." Although his right leg felt weaker of a sudden. Psychosomatic or not, he could do with that crutch right now. "Did one of you take my gun? Did you take it when we were at Baker Street?"  
"I don't know anything about that. What does it have to do with - "  
"I would have killed him. The cabby. But I couldn't. And Sherlock was too caught up in the cabby's game, he wasn't thinking."  
"I'll have someone investigate it, if you like. It wouldn't have done much good at the time, anyway. You said they were stood right next to each other, and you were in the next building. But I can check. If you want. Look, if you need anything, just, get in touch, ok?"  
Watson could have shot him, he knew it. "Sure, fine." Get in touch. Watson didn't even know the man. He was Sherlock's friend. Well, colleague. Sherlock didn't really have friends. Not for a long while, anyway. _And when he did have one, it was too bloody late_. "I'm going to go. No point hanging around."  
"I'm sorry."

***

Sherlock watched as the cabby pushed one pill container toward him. "That is the chess move, Mr Holmes," the man said. "Did I offer you the good pill, or the bad pill? Your choice. You're free to choose."  
"It's still a 50:50 chance."  
"Ah, but am I bluffing you? Is it a double bluff? Or a triple bluff?"  
"Still 50:50."  
"But I know people, see, Mr Holmes. I know which one you're going to choose. And you can't resist it, can you? Can you prove you can beat me? That you're better than me?" He was right. Sherlock couldn't resist. The game, that was everything. Bluff? Double bluff? Perhaps both were poisoned, and the cabby had the antidote on him. Or had built up a tolerance. No. Too unlikely, considering the commonly available poisons. You can't build up a resistance to arsenic or rat-poison.  
He held the pill up to the light, contemplating it. The cabby watched him, wordlessly opening his own pill container and bringing it toward his lips.  
Choose life, or choose to play the game?

He was a sucker for the game. Every time.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this aages ago, in the middle of the first season of Sherlock when I fell in love with the program. Touched it up & it still holds together all right, I think.


End file.
